


Geoff's Sabatical

by Dragonsister899



Series: Pray for the Wicked [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Feel-good, Gen, Goeff's Farming & Merchantile, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Simple Farmer Geoff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 03:12:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14179275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonsister899/pseuds/Dragonsister899
Summary: As the man stood and looked over his shoulder, Michael had the distinct pleasure of watching Geoff Ramsey, Kingpin of Los Santos, most feared man in San Andreas, double take and then drop a crate of what looked like apples right onto his foot.





	Geoff's Sabatical

It was a rough one. Michael surveyed the main room of Geoff’s penthouse and frowned as he took in the dissonant picture that the deadliest crew of this cruel city painted. Jeremy was icing numerous bruises and resting on the couch as he waited for his stiches to stop the bleeding. Ryan was sleeping next to Jeremy, peaceful unless you knew his slumber was drug-induced to get him to avoid aggravating his own hurts. Gavin was furiously typing on his laptop at the kitchen counter despite his obvious concussion. Jack could be heard in the other room talking in the phone as she walked the B team through the clean up of their disastrous job. Geoff had disappeared into his room right after they stumbled into the apartment and hadn’t been seen since.

Michael sighed, trying to ignore the way his ribs protested the movement. The new burns along his arms were sticky with aloe and his ears had not quite stopped ringing, but he couldn’t let that stop him. He walked slowly into the office where Jack was pacing the floor despite her limp. Their eyes locked, understanding passed between the two. Jack limped over to Geoff’s desk, tore a piece of stationary and scribbled down a note, all the while talking someone, probably Alfredo, through how to bribe police already at the crime scene. She handed the torn paper to Michael, mouthed ‘God speed,’ and turned away from him.

Michael looked at the address written on the paper and looked back to her. Standing at the floor to ceiling windows overlooking Los Santos, you wouldn’t think that Jack Pattillo had ever felt anything but endless strength and the confidence of someone who has never failed, but Michael knew better. Her shoulders, strong and wide, were tense. She was favoring her left leg over her right, cautiously shifting her weight every so often only to wince and settle back. Michael turned and without a word, left her to her view of the city and an empty office.

Michael passed by the others recovering in the main room. Gavin looked up from his laptop and tried to focus his eyes on his boy as he passed, but Michael didn’t stop as he opened the main door and left. Down in the garage, Michael confirmed what he already knew when he saw that Geoff’s favorite car was missing. Michael hopped into the most inconspicuous car he could find and peeled out of the garage, leaving the deathly silence of the penthouse behind.

*****************

The address Jack had given him took him out of the city. After getting lost at least a dozen times, Michael tapped it into his phone and followed the GPS a couple hours into the quiet countryside. As he drove, Michael felt the tension in his body unwind, relaxing as he sped through winding back-roads and past open fields. Normally, being out of the city made him uneasy, but Michael appreciated the sleepiness of the drive, especially after the day he’d had. He pulled into the gravel lot a little after dinner time as the sun neared the mountains along the horizon. The building in front of him could be described as ramshackle, Michael thought, or maybe well-used. The hand-painted sign above the door boasted the name _Goeff’s Farming & Merchantile Supply_.

Michael smirked and huffed a laugh at the typo. Killing the engine, he carefully pulled himself out of the car and headed inside. Stepping up onto the wooden porch, Michael opened the door, rattling some windchimes and alerting anyone in the store of his entrance.  
“Be with you in just a minute!” cracked a familiar voice from behind some shelves near the back. Michael smiled to himself as he walked towards the sound of rustling and turned the corner, revealing the backside of a man bent double over a box of fruits. As the man stood and looked over his shoulder, Michael had the distinct pleasure of watching Geoff Ramsey, Kingpin of Los Santos, most feared man in San Andreas, double take and then drop a crate of what looked like apples right onto his foot. The same foot that had literally been run over by a over-enthusiastic cop car earlier that same day.

“AUUUUGGGGGHHHHHH FUUUCCKKKKK!!!! FUCKING FUCK!! SUCK MY FUCKING DICK FUCK!!!!”

Michael laughed as Geoff fell to the floor cradling his foot as he rocked back and forth. Geoff looked well enough from what Michael could see, besides the obvious. He had traded out his fitted suit for a blue pair of coverall’s and workers boots. Michael knelt to gather up the fallen apples, still laughing as Geoff continued his theatrics. By the time Michael had put all the apples back into the crate and put the crate in the empty spot on the table, Geoff had laid out spread-eagled on the dirty floor, just staring with a hurt frown on his face. Michael lent over him, “You good, oh fearless leader?”

“Suck my dick.”

“Not today.” Michael replied easily. Looking down at Geoff, he came to an easy decision.

Michael took the handgun out of his waistband, set it on the table between the apples and another crate of carrots and laid on the floor next to Geoff.

“How’d you know this was out here?” Geoff asked after a while.

“Jack gave me the address, but she didn’t tell me what it led to. I thought you were just holed up in a bar somewhere.”

“Not anymore. I quit that a while ago.”

Michael frowned and turned his head to look at him. Geoff ignored the inquisitive look and just kept staring at the slowly spinning fan above them. They lay together in the warm yellow light of the store. Michael looked around as best he could from his vantage point on the floor. Goeff’s Farming & Merchantile Supply seemed to be some kind farmer’s market with a handful of tables holding crates of produce. In one corner, there was a sliding fridge holding gallons of fresh milk and cartons of eggs. Behind the counter in the back was a shelf or two of cheap paperbacks with unfamiliar titles.

Hearing some rustling on the other side of Geoff, Michael turned back in time to see a brown bull terrier meander its way over to them and he watched as it laid down next to Geoff. The man sighed and began to scratch behind the dogs ears and after a while, he spoke. “I came out here years ago after our first bad heist. You remember? A couple weeks after you joined and we were gonna rob those gas stations and Gavin thought he could drive that fucking fire truck into those fucking gas pumps?”

Michael did in fact remember that disaster of a heist. Gavin had had the brilliant idea to go after gas stations and had blown the heist almost immediately. Luckily, Gavin had survived the explosion with a couple minor burns and the others had gotten away from the police eventually. But Geoff had been left with the only functioning comm device trying desperately to contact the rest of the crew. For almost half a day, Geoff had thought he was the only member of the Fake AH crew left alive. As they had all recuperated at the new penthouse, Geoff had cursed them out with tears in his eyes and then disappeared for two weeks.

Now that he thought about it, Michael realized Geoff had been disappearing after bad jobs for ages now. Michael had always assumed it was clean-up or something similar, or maybe retreating to some hole-in-the-wall bar, but looking around, he knew that he was wrong.

“The folks who owned this place retired somewhere east and left it to me. I’m letting a couple stay here and run it while I’m busy managing you fucks,” Geoff elbowed Michael gently, mindful of his bruised ribs. “I opened this stand and people seem to like it, so” he trailed off. Michael stood with a grunt and lent his hand down to Geoff, who pulled himself up with a twin groan.

“I like it,” Geoff said, surveying the store. “I like being simple farmer Geoff. Getting away from the city now and again.” He turned back to Michael, “Don’t get me wrong, being the Kingpin is the tits, but this…this is the dicks.”

*********************

Over the next three days, Michael helped Geoff out around the farm. There was a cornfield, rows of vegetables, an orchard or two, and animals. Geoff had introduced the bull terrier that followed them around loyally as Millie the dog. The barn cat was Millie the cat. The two milk cows were somehow both Millie the cow. When Geoff showed Michael the chicken coop, Michael was prepared for 20 Millie’s, but as it turned out, the chickens that were Geoff’s pride and joy were all individually and uniquely named. Geoff had led Michael from hen to hen, introducing them by name, “This is Metal Dan, this is the Captain, this is Sunshine, she’s a sweetheart. This over here is Gavin’s Lament,” Michael got a kick out of that one. “Over here we have Charles, Vitamin C is over there. Vegas is right there hiding behind Modest Pete…” It had gone on for quite a while after that. There was, as Michael discovered, also a Millie the Chicken. When asked about the name, Geoff had shrugged and said it was a good name and he wouldn’t hear otherwise.

The couple who lived at the farmhouse made themselves scarce as two of the baddest men in Los Santos took a vacation from the big city in favor of just farming. Michael noticed a distinct lack of alcohol around the house and shop and decided to not ask Geoff about it. In the penthouse, there was always beer in the fridge and handles of liquor available, both the cheap convenience store stuff that Jack used to clean wounds sometimes, and then the nice top shelf stuff that they dragged out for celebrations or just because. Geoff had been the heaviest drinker out of all of them last time Michael had checked, but come to think of it, he couldn’t remember the last time in recent memory that Geoff had been passed out drunk in the master bathtub or had drunkenly concocted the most extreme and over-the-top plan for some simple robbery. Michael stopped at the top of the ladder and looked at Geoff as he repaired shingles in the roof of the shop and thought. Then he shrugged. If Geoff had given up drinking, all the better for him. Maybe now he wouldn’t require motorcycles as the primary getaway vehicles or that bright red jumpsuits were appropriate heisting attire. Michael smirked to himself, admitting that the jumpsuits were pretty cool. Hearing a _thwack_ and an emphatic “AUGH FUCK!!!” as Geoff hammered his thumb instead of the nail for the sixth time, Michael knew that everything was going to be fine.

****************

After the three days had passed and Geoff could walk without cursing his foot and Michael’s ribs no longer hurt when he laughed, they got into their cars and headed back into the city. Stepping into the penthouse, no one would have guessed that just three days ago, the Fake AH crew were foiled in a routine operation or were nursing fresh wounds. The boisterous scene that greeted Geoff and Michael at the door spoke of lightened spirits and renewed resolve, as Jeremy was duct-taped sideways to the wall and badly covered with a throw-blanket as the rest of the crew and most of the B-team tried to look casual. Michael heard Geoff huff a small laugh out of his nose before he walked into the room, demanding that they’d all better start doing what he paid them for before he started firing people. Michael laughed as he did the most natural thing he could, and he followed Geoff into the chaos.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to integrate simple farmer Geoff with the rest of the FAHC-verse, so this is my attempt at that. Got a little serious in there in regards to him going sober, but I tried overall to keep it lighthearted. Let me know what you think.


End file.
